A GAY GUY SAVED FROM REPARATIVE THERAPIES

Im 31 years old and, after a long struggle with myself, I started to live again, I have been destroying myself for several years and I think I have found happiness just a couple of years ago. I often hear people exalting family as if it were a beautiful thing, that is, as if it were the ideal place for a boy to grow up serenely but for me, and I’m only realizing it now, the family has been a terrible place. From outside my family seems a family like many others, a father who has a good job (very good), a mother who worked but then left the job after my birth to devote herself completely to me (unfortunately she did!). Both my parents are of a good cultural level. 
 
I have no memories of any of my grandparents, but I think that my grandparents have been the ruin of my parents, just as my parents have been my ruin and maybe even worse. Both my father and my mother are only children exactly like me. I have never once seen my father and mother exchange a gesture of tenderness so as I have never seen my father tired or unkempt or my mother not perfectly settled. My mother has always been a freak of order, cleanliness, etc. etc. … The fundamental value that has always dominated my family is social prestige. My parents are wealthy, we can say it, but they are not rich in the true sense of the word, certainly, for them, not feeling up to their world would be a great suffering. I grew up being alone or with people much older than me.
 
The school was an obsession for me since elementary school, I couldn’t be the second in my class, I had to be the first one and this cost me a lot. My mother sometimes asked me questions, questions like those the teacher asks at school, just to see if I was able to answer. My parents were very attached to the church, today I think it was more for reasons of opportunity and politics than for religion itself. In particular since I was seven or eight years old I often saw a priest in my house who could have been about forty years old, I will call him Don Luigi here. Today I say a “prete”, but then I said “sacerdote” [the two words mean “priest” but while “prete” in a common word, “sacerdote” is the official word, used by the Church itself ], because my mother was convinced that, under the word priest, said by me, there could be something quite derogatory. He was an important priest, very respected and then he struck me because he was a bit my father’s ecclesiastical version: short hair like Germans, perfect clergyman, always perfectly ironed, shiny shoes, etc. …
 
I understood only many years later how much this priest has influenced my life since I was very young. It was Don Luigi who, in practice, decided that I had to attend elementary school in an institute of nuns, but I don’t have a bad memory of the school or of the nuns, except for the fact that the environment was almost military and the study was really a torment for me. But that school had two big flaws that I didn’t see at the time, in the first place it was totally out of the world, that is it was all muffled, muted, the children grew up and didn’t realize they lived in a world completely separate from reality and then there was the fact that the children were addressed to religion beginning from 6-7 years old with a substantial brainwashing of which they could not absolutely realize the consequences because they lacked any possibility of comparison with the lives of other boys.
 
At seven years old the sisters prepared us for the first confession, but a seven-year-old boy has very little to confess, so I assimilated all external attitudes; clasped hands, kneeling, reciting penance, etc. etc., What the priest told me in confession at that age was always that I had to obey my father and my mother like I had to obey Jesus, who loves us if we do what he commands us.
 
Toward the end of the fifth grade I made my first communion, but I still didn’t understand anything about what I was doing. The sisters taught us catechism and I studied it like any school subject and I was also proud to know why God had created the world, etc. etc. … The choice of middle school, even this in a religious institution, was warmly sponsored by Don Luigi who said that for me a “serious school” was needed, serious for him was the same as religious, that would prepare me well for what life would have presented to me, implying that the public school was a very bad environment in which I could only have ruined myself. In the seventh and eighth grade the environment was quite similar to that of the nuns, even though there were no nuns but priests. The school sometimes, I would say quite frequently, organized a camping or a stay in the country for three days and I liked it a lot. They called them “retreats” and were used to prepare for the confirmation I received at age 12.
 
My life was completely quiet, confession and communion every Sunday, which for me was a obvious but also very mechanical thing, for the rest I had to study and to try to be the first in the class, at home I had to obey dad and mom, that was all.
 
Then, suddenly, at the beginning of the eighth grade, my world of child safety goes into crisis. One night, for the first time I have a wet dream and I remember perfectly that I had dreamed that I was spying on one of my classmates in the shower, or rather, before he undressed to get a shower, when I imagined that his underwear was down I had my first orgasm. The dream, I still remember, was really exciting and the physical sensation of my first orgasm was very intense and even the impression, vaguely embarrassing, that I felt later, feeling all wet and sticky, was very strong. I didn’t know what had happened because I knew why God had created the world but didn’t know that sexuality existed, or at least I couldn’t connect what had happened to me with that minimum of concepts about sex that I had been able to steal from the external world, in practice only from TV because the internet in my house had never existed except as a working tool for dad.
 
In short, it was the first time I felt embarrassed for sexuality. I didn’t know what to do: talk with dad or with mom? And then tell them everything? Even that I dreamed of spying on a friend of mine and of seeing him naked? Or would I have to go immediately to confess because dreaming of such a thing is surely not a good thing? And then what was all that sticky substance that I had found on myself. I decided to avoid my mother, because I thought she would not understand, I went to talk to my father who immediately understood what had happened, but I didn’t tell him that I had dreamed of seeing a naked boy. He told me that now I was growing up and that what had happened was the awakening of my sexuality and that it was not a dangerous thing but in order to have a serious advice on how I would have to deal with these things I had to talk to the priest.
 
I understood only many years after the absurdity of a similar speech, at that time the answer seemed to me clear and comprehensive. I went to confession in the afternoon with a priest I didn’t know because I was very ashamed, I found an old man who told me that those things are useful when you get married and have children and that until then you have to maintain purity, that is you have to preserve absolutely a gift so great that can make you a collaborator of God in spreading the gift of life. Then I told him, almost as if it were a banality, what I had dreamed of and he stopped and told me: “This is a serious sin because men are made for women and women for men”, and added that I had to pray much for Jesus to make me return to the right path, etc. etc., then he gave me the absolution. For me it was a tremendous shock. What had I done wrong? I really could not understand it.
 
However, I decided not to say anything to my father about what had happened in confession and to commit myself to the maximum so as not to think any more about those things that I had been said were a serious sin. Since then, maybe I was still 12 years old or I had just turned 13, my life became a continuous struggle against myself. I discovered masturbation after a few days, but with serious feelings of guilt and with even greater guilt feelings, I continued in my gay sexual fantasies. I went to confession every Sunday with a different priest telling him just that I had masturbated because for me the sin was that. From the priests I heard things of all the colors, always on the negative, clearly, but with many different degrees of negativity.
 
After the intermediate school, my fate was marked, and for the intervention of Don Luigi I ended up for the third time in a religious school, always of priests, like the middle school, even if of another order, there is no need to say that I was sent to the classic high school, the thing was obvious a priori. A mixed class with a predominance of girls, however, the guys were a dozen, not very few. Of course I had attended also elementary and intermediate school in mixed classes of boys and girls together, at the time such a thing seemed quite secondary to me, but entering the ninth grade I saw things in another way, that is I had begun to look at the boys, clearly with the maximum circumspection and with a thousand scruples of conscience, but I had begun to look at them. I knew I should not have looked at them but I couldn’t not help looking at them.
 
At school there was very little to do, surveillance was very strict and at most you could have seen smiles between a boy and a girl and also this with a lot of sense of limit. In practice, I experienced anguish all the years of gymnasium-Lyceum, not for school, where I was definitely not the first, with great disappointment of my mother, but for sex. Attempts to repress me have been really absurd because when I entered the Gymnasium I received as a gift my first computer and my first internet access with the warning on the part of my parents that “this must be switched on only for school and when we are at home”. But as the facts didn’t follow the words, I almost immediately started to go on the internet to look for gay photos and videos (which at that time were still few and very short). With internet the frequency of masturbation has increased exponentially, once a day and even more.
 
To this my very private sexual life corresponded the confessions in which I had begun to tell the priest that I had gay fantasies and in confession I was told by the priest and starting from the first time that in order to definitively solve this problem and to have a normal life one could resort to a psychologist, because there are very good psychologists who can help the boys to “get back on track”, I was then 16 years. That’s how I made the most absurd decision of my life, as if it were a heroic choice of which I had to feel proud: I would have gone to a psychologist to get out of this story of masturbation and homosexuality, but how? My parents should have known it. I thought to tell my parents that I didn’t sleep at night, that I felt very agitated and that I wanted to talk to a psychologist, in response I was told that Don Luigi was precisely a psychologist and that I could talk with him. Against such a proposal my refusal has been categorical. My mother tried to insist, I ended up convinced not to talk to Don Luigi but to contact a “serious psychologist” indicated by him. I knew that there was professional secrecy and I tended to trust.
 
After a few days I went to the first appointment with the psychologist, he must have been between 35 and 40 years, everything was very ritual, bed, notebook, low light, etc. etc., I was a little frightened, I told him of my problem: “compulsive masturbation and homosexuality, etc. etc.”. He tells me that a lot can be done but that my commitment must be total.
 
After the first sessions he makes me compile some tests and gives me a book to read about reparative therapies where there are terrible stories of homosexuals finished badly, I bring the book home and hide it because I don’t want my parents to find it, I read the book but it makes me sick, the psychologist tells me that my doctor should prescribe me anxiolytics but I don’t want to take medicines, then he sends me to a religious group that deals with these things and tells me that “operating on two fronts” things are much easier.
 
The group met in the evening, going there for me was an experience of a terrible self-inflicted violence. I resisted only the first two meetings, then I told the psychologist that I couldn’t take it anymore, he tries to insist on getting me back to the religious group saying it’s for my own good. But I had no intention of going back there, so he proposed a more gradual way …
 
In the meantime, I had practically stopped studying for school and I found myself with a debt in Greek that made my mother go on a rampage. I turn seventeen and I feel truly destroyed, a nothingness destined for failure. I spend a whole night crying, I cannot do it any more, I’m tired even of my live, I’m truly at the limit.
 
Talking to a classmate of mine, I come to know that she goes to a psychologist and that she is well with him. I tell my mother that I want to change the psychologist, she sees me right on the edge and does not object. I wait for the day of the first date.
 
The environment is Spartan, just reduced to the minimum, the psychologist is old, about sixty, white hair, sweater. We shake hands and he tells me to sit down in an armchair, he sits in a chair in front of me, I tell him my problem: “compulsive masturbation and homosexuality”, he asks me: “masturbation how often?” I tell him “Even once a day” that seemed to me very much, he smiles, opens his arms and says, “And with this? This is the norm!” I insist: “But with homosexual fantasies …” And he answers me:” So what? If one is gay it’s obvious that he thinks about guys and not about girls, these are normal things!” I told him: “I do not know what to do anymore, I can’t  go on, I’m just at the limit … “. Then he let me tell a little about my life and he told me: “We must simplify things, you don’t have to do the things that others tell you but what you want, you don’t have to live badly, because otherwise later you’ll have a thousand regrets, you’re a very young boy, a gay boy, so what? What’s the problem? The absurdity, for a gay guy, is to force himself to desire to be no longer gay or worse to commit to not being gay anymore! You must begin to become autonomous, to do what you think is right, the problem lies in the fact that you are worried for things that don’t concern you, for things that others want from you, but you must do only what you want. You will have problems because your family will not easily accept your freedom of doing what you want, but your autonomy you have to earn it day after day.”
 
When I got home I felt free, the feeling was very strange but I knew that the things that this psychologist had told me were basically those I didn’t have the courage to say to myself. It was not easy to build a real autonomy because actually my parents did everything to put me in trouble, and here the psychologist was really useful. Now I have a boyfriend for two years and I love him deeply, he also helped me a lot, he had an enormous patience with me. Now we live together! One day we were walking on the road and I told him: “Take me by the hand!” He looked at me questioningly as asking why, and I added: “There is Don Luigi!” And then he hugged me and kissed me in the street, that’s why I love him!
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HELL AND HEAVEN OF A GAY GUY

Hello Project, I wanted to tell you that for three weeks now I feel much better and it seems to me that I can get out of the black mood. It seems incredible, but it’s happening. Project, what you did for me has never been done by anyone and it seems incredible to me that you can create similar relationships even if you don’t even know who I’m, but it happens. In the last period everything has changed for me, apparently nothing has changed but I’m the one who has changed, I feel that I have changed and I owe it to you. You know all my story and you told me that there are other guys who live and have lived similar things and then I want to tell my story to those guys because not being alone and understanding that we are not alone, for those like me, is fundamental. Project, the story is long and I took so long to write it but I think it makes sense, because in the end I’m finding my way and so I finally feel free. Project, I tell you something true: I adopted you as a father! It’s something that I missed so much and I’m discovering beautiful things! (Thanks for the good wishes, you’re the only one who has remembered it!)

THE STORY OF PAUL

My name is Paul, I was born in Milan almost 28 years ago. If I look back at my childhood and adolescence I find no time in which I can say I was I don’t say happy but not even serene. My parents never got along, from the date of their marriage and from my date of birth I deduced that I was already arriving when they got married, which would not be a problem, but I don’t look like “my father” at all, under any point of view, just as far as genetic factors are concerned, and I think I’m not even a son of the man who married my mother, but I don’t know for sure and I cannot ask for something like that.

My parents (if they really are my parents), I remember that they often screamed and made spite. They had no other children and I was the object of contention, and I had many times, even as a child, the very clear feeling that “my father” didn’t want me because he knew I was not his son. My mother literally considered me a mess and tried to entrust me to relatives and to various campsites. From the age of eight, that is, since they divorced, they put me in a boarding school for rich people. My parents are economically wealthy. But the choice to send me to boarding school was just a way to disguise the fact that their wanted to get rid of me in order to continue living their lives without me. I was just one that had nothing to do with them.

The college was in a very nice place in the [omissis] area. They came to see me once in a while, usually once every three months, once he and one she. When the teachers told me that the next day my father or my mother would come, I felt really bad and I hated them as I think I never hated anyone.

When I was a kid I did not understand these things well and felt guilty because I hated my parents while teachers told me I should love them. In practice I grew totally alone, both during the school months and during the holidays. I specify that my college was totally male and managed by priests. A hateful place where with the excuse of letting me learn the discipline I was practically relegated as in prison. You learned hypocrisy, falsehood, and even the relationships with schoolmates were just of competition and constant acting, even in private.

My schoolmates waited at least for the summer holidays, I didn’t, because I would have ended up somewhere else like a parcel post. When my mother came to my boarding school, she took me to lunch outside and thought she had done her duty. We only talked about school and she tortured me for hours because she thought it was her duty to pay me a long visit. My father at least stayed very little. Both he and she gave me expensive gifts that I systematically threw away or gave away to someone soon after they left.

Since I was 15 years old they have not given me any more presents but they have thought to give me money and many. I never took that money and they considered me an imbecile for this too. So I was in a boarding school and I didn’t have a penny in my pocket.

The school was a real torture for me. In the fifth gymnasium ( 15th grade) I was rejected which meant another year in prison, I would have gone out of college only after have turned 20! Repeating the fifth gymnasium I met a guy that I liked a lot, I didn’t even understand why.

We were in a religious college and we had a spiritual father. So I started to masturbate thinking about that guy and I felt tremendous guilt. I told the priest that I was masturbating and he didn’t take it as a tragic thing, he always made the same speech and stopped there, but I didn’t say to the priest that I felt homosexual. Once I went badly in crisis and told him that I was gay. It was a terribly wrong choice! College life has become a torture. They controlled me visually as the rotten apple. I always had a priest nearby during my free time. In a first moment I tried to repress and control myself, that is, not to masturbate anymore and even to stop thinking about that guy, but it was a real torture. I resisted even three weeks by auto-imposing not to even think about sex but then I didn’t do it anymore and I masturbated again and I said: “Enough with these absurdities! Go to the hell!”

Since then I began to tell the spiritual father only false things: that I no longer thought of the boys and that I didn’t even masturbate anymore, but I presented it step by step to make it seem credible, I was 16 and a half years old. Naturally I went to church every day, confessed false things and made communion every day. It was a sacrilegious thing, I know, religion should be a free choice, while for me it was just an instrument of torture and frankly I didn’t feel guilty, and why, then? In our college there were never any common moments with other guys in a state of freedom.

At school we did physical education but in the afternoon, there was the gym, also very nice, but there were no locker rooms, no showers. We arrived wearing sports uniform and went away wearing sports uniform. Among other things, it was generally very cold there. We each had a single room with a private bathroom and shower. So I had no chance to see the boy I was interested in if not perfectly dressed, jacket and tie of the college.

I started masturbating since the 16 and a half, but in a place like that, without the internet (considered as the devil!) And without any chance to read an uncensored book or buy a newspaper, in practice, I did everything using fantasy. I selected someone among my classmates and built on them all my fantasies. The first times, this new regime seemed acceptable and even pleasant, then I began to realize that I was throwing my best years this way. The year of the final examination, in November, I also escaped from the college, I was of age, in fact I was almost 20 years old but I didn’t have a penny in my pocket. I arrived at the station after having walked a very long way and I got on a train without paying the ticket and I locked myself in the bathroom until the arrival in Milan so that they couldn’t detect me.

In the college room I had left a letter saying that I would be back in the evening. In Milan I realized for the first time, at almost 20, that the world existed, something that was shocking for me, I was late for years. In the afternoon I newly got the train with the same technique and I came back to the boarding school. Result: they kicked me out of the college! Finally! Of course they warned my parents, who were careful not to come and see what had happened. My mother gave me some money (a telegraphic order) and I have been in a hotel since then in the town near the college.

Then my mother found me a tiny apartment there and they transferred me to the state high school. There were the girls! I had never seen one before, but I wasn’t interested in girls. But the world of the state school was completely different. The professors sometimes even talked about sex, no one forced us to go to mass, there was no spiritual father and we did physical education in a gym with locker room and showers, I couldn’t even imagine a trauma bigger than that .

You might think that in a situation like this I felt good, but it was not like that at all. I felt desperately alone, full of complexes, I had entered the locker room just once for a moment, but after I saw my naked mates I didn’t enter there anymore. They were all there joking and having fun but I just felt the heart beating at 180. The feeling of loneliness and isolation was total. I had a mini-apartment all of my own and fortunately the feeling of solitude sometimes seemed a feeling of freedom.

To prepare the exam I bought a computer and there a new world opened in front of me. Avalanches of free gay sex, but those things sickened me. A few years ago even in porn things were different, they were more vulgar, more aggressive and I didn’t like them at all. When I masturbated thinking about my schoolmates I was fine but when I tried to imagine myself in scenes like the ones I had seen on porn sites I was nauseated. In practice I saw that gay content on the net was all sex but in the most vulgar sense of the term.

I studied very little that year because I had to grow up in many other things. In the end I passed the final examination with a very low rating. But at least the school’s torture was over. I was sorry because the following year there would be no more chance to see my schoolmates naked in the locker room, what, by the way, had almost never happened, but at least there was the possibility.

I leave my apartment and I move to Milan in another apartment paid by my parents. A minimal thing. My parents lived in Milan but I would never have gone to their home, now we no longer called each other not even by phone, after my escape from the college I was considered just a blockhead and the low-grade of my diploma was the further proof of it.

I enrolled in Engineering at the Polytechnic shortly after I turned 20. So many guys and beautiful, but I was totally unable to maintain contact with them even at the minimum level, I felt embarrassed, I felt them more grown up than I was in every sense, even if my classmates had a year less than me. I had tried everything: I enrolled in the gym and then I never went there, I tried to see if it was possible to study with some of my colleagues but always went wrong, they were real geniuses, and I understood little or nothing at all.

The first year I passed a single examination with 19 [18/30 is the minimum score to pass an exam]. At least it was not 18! The second year I newly attended the same courses of the first and I passed a single exam again but with 20! I was 22 years old I was basically a failure from all points of view. Bad university results, practically between university and school, three years lost. I tried to repeat again the first year, but I could not endure it anymore.

My colleagues were three years younger than me and they understood everything, I didn’t understand anything and I didn’t study anything, I felt essentially a failure. I sent everything to ruin, I bought things to eat that went bad in the fridge, sometimes I didn’t get up from bed all day, I ate very little and lose weight dramatically. I have arrived to weigh 55 kilos, even though I am not very tall it’s anyway very few.

At the age of 23 I changed faculty and moved to Economics. The thing was more human and at the end of the year, working at terrible rhythms, I managed to do almost all the exams of the first year. At least from that point of view things started working again. I took my first degree at the age of 27! After too many years lost! I did the first year of the specialistic but of the exams that were planned I did little more than a half because I started working and I finally cut the economic cordons with my family. From this point of view, let’s say, I managed to return to the surface, but my emotional life, in practice, until recently didn’t exist at all.

Since last year I discovered Gay Project and I must say that for me it was an important thing. I read the forum every day and the guys who write there, it seems to me I almost to know them in person, a little I feel them as friends, because I don’t have gay friends. So basically until this year my sexuality was only fancy and I thought that a real contact with a guy, that is, something that gives you a strong sexual emotion I would never have tried it.

I had practically resigned myself to such a thing, resigned badly, let’s say so, because sometimes I saw some nice guys, I wanted at least to try to talk with them but I couldn’t really and I felt a sense of extreme despair. Now I work as an accountant, in practice I verify the “form 730”, “Unique” and things like that, work of low labor, but all in all I can live of my own.

At work, a 26-year-old guy arrived, rather nice, that is, I like him and he also attracts me sexually. Since I met him, it has been my only sexual fixed idea. I think all of you have gone through things like that. First you start to masturbate thinking of that guy, then it comes to your mind that you don’t know if he’s gay, well, I’ve overcome all these things, he told me he’s gay because I would never had such a courage and he also said that he likes me.

He had tried a minimum of physical contact with me but I rejected him badly, I did a kind of hysterical scene and then I ended up to cry, just an attack of despair, he was in a tremendous embarrassment and I was sorry very much because in the end I wanted him but I rejected him so violently that he got really scared and started to keep me at a distance. I could not understand why if I wanted him, and I wanted him madly, in the end I had attacked him like that.

That’s where the Project forum happened to me and I said to myself: I try, so what do I have to lose? And I called. At first a tremendous embarrassment. From what I’ve read many guys talk about sex in a very casual way but I just couldn’t.

The first time, we talked for hours but always in a very vague, and never about sex, I thought that Project was tired but no. Then I called him back, but still without talking about sex, the third time he called me, I was not expecting it and I was very happy and even the third time we didn’t talk about sex. In fact I had been looking for Project just to talk about sex and instead a very strange relationship was created which I was not really used to. A man that could be my father was talking with me for hours, he listened to me, a very strange feeling. I asked him why he was listening to me and he told me that he was at ease and in fact I was fine too, so I found the courage and told him about me, telling him a little about the story you read up to now. I also said of the anxiety that takes me when I’m with my friend and that I thought I would never be able to have a sexual contact with him.

One thing struck me: de-dramatization. Project took it for granted that it would not be a big problem and that it would be resolved soon and well. We talked about sexuality very freely. Well it was remarkable: I had no inhibitions, something that had never happened to me before when the talk ended up on sexual issues. I never thought I could talk freely with a man of that age and instead it just happened. Then in the following days, we talked often. If I have to tell the truth I felt the affection of Project, the attention to what I said and what I am.

Why did I write all this post? Well, the reason is one, yesterday, for the first time, I managed to kiss that guy. I had never experienced anything like this, just a feeling of total mutual abandonment. The time that stops and you end up to merge with another guy, a wonderful thing, let’s tell it, because of these things I’m not ashamed anymore, the excitement was such that I came to orgasm for a kiss! When I told this to Project, he told me some beautiful things. It’s true Project, being gay is a beautiful thing and makes you forget so many bad things you’ve been through. Now I consider that guy as my boyfriend, and he thinks the same! Guys! Never let anyone throw you down! I now feel like another person!

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If you like, you can join the discussion on this post on Gay Project Forum: http://gayprojectforum.altervista.org/T-hell-and-heaven-of-a-gay-guy

GAY DIGNITY

Hi Project, I allow myself to call you so,  as everybody do, as far as I see. Congratulations for your blog and for the forum, lately I have spent a lot of time on the forum because I wanted to understand the lives of other gay guys. And really I gained a correct knowledge about such arguments. 
 
But now the thing that complicates my life more is not being gay, I know in practice that I’m so since I was little, my real problem (but maybe it’s not even a problem) is that recently I gave a radical breakthrough to my life because at my house, or better at my parent’s house, I felt spied on.
 
I turned 18 a few months ago and I thought I would be entitled to some privacy and instead I didn’t have any privacy. My parents are relatively young 41 years my father and 39 my mother, so in theory a bit of dialogue there could also be, they are not bigots and in many things like going out at night or staying to sleep by friends they have never created problems , and then they are from the left, always talk about freedom, about this and that but never about freedom of gays!
 
Once a couple of years ago I was with them and with a group of daddy’s friends and the talk about gays came out, while the others really seemed people who think that between a gay and a hetero there is no difference, for my father it was not like that, he used to put on “if” and “but” and such a thing gave me an enormous annoyance.
 
But this was two years ago and then it was just me the one who knew that I was gay, only I knew it and they certainly didn’t suspect it in the least. In February of this year the usual speeches began to come out: “All your friends have a girlfriend” but so only mentioned, without even adding the rest, because it was anyhow very clear, I was caught off guard and I reacted a little embarrassed. From this I believe the suspicions and the witch hunt began.
 
Apparently it was all like before, but I noticed something strange in the speeches and in the tone of the voices and I didn’t like it at all. Do you have anything to say? Well, then come on! Do it openly! But hypocrisy I cannot stand it at all!
 
Project, you must understand that in my house I have never had anything gay except in the computer. Until a short time ago I didn’t even have a computer of mine and I accessed the internet from that of dad and when they began to suspect I still used dad’s computer, who, being administrator, could access all the files, even mine, as well if they were password protected.
 
After the talk about my friends who have a girl, which had put me very alarmed, I immediately opened the computer and deleted all the gay files, even those most vaguely gay. I used to keep them all in a special folder where it was written “Exercises of Mathematics”, but evidently sometimes, in a hurry to close everything (because when my parents arrived suddenly, they didn’t have to find me on gay sites), I must have left behind a file “vaguely gay” (then I’ll tell you what it is, because it concerns you) out of the folder, so when I changed the contents of the folder and I actually put there the true math exercises that I had kept elsewhere, I forgot to delete the “vaguely gay” file that was left out. What do I mean by “vaguely gay”? I mean no photos, no videos, and here I come to your forum, in fact I had made a copy of the post “How I realized I was gay” because I liked it too much. I, after deleting the contents of the “Exercises  of Mathematics” folder, felt calm  since I thought there were no more gay files in the computer, and I had also cleared the “recent files” section on Word that resulted perfectly empty.
 
I started using the computer even when there were my parents, as I had never done before. A little time after the speech about friends who have a girl, I open the computer (if you remember, before closing it the last time, I had obviously deleted all the chronology and the “recent files” on Word), the chronology is still empty, I think it is clear that no one has put his hands on the computer, but then I open Word and I click on “file” and  on “recent files” I see “How I understood to be gay”. But I had perfectly cleared that section … it’s a clear sign that my father has opened that file and had read it.
 
The world had literally felled on me, I felt a horrible feeling, just to be badly caught red-handed, the feeling of being spied on by my father who had come to understand. I swear to you, Project, a horrible feeling. If I want to tell you, I must tell you! But you don’t have to be spying on me, something like that is shameful. Anyway I felt really badly. I expected that in a few hours the showdown would have come, now I was determined and I would have told him everything anyway, I had been discovered and I had nothing to lose, it was March 21 (first day of spring and I had just 18 years), I will never forget that day because it marked my total divorce from my family.
 
Contrary to the predictions, my father, when he returned home, didn’t say anything and I hated him for this and he did as if not nothing had happened, practically from the 21st of March between me and my parents there was no more a serious relationship, only hypocrisy.
 
Ah, I remember now an important thing, when I turned 18 (early March) and they already suspected something, they had proposed me to have a party at home and I had sent them to hell  (Project, I had written another expression but I changed it out of respect for you!), I had sent them to hell with education that is with hypocrisy because the party at home served to spy on me in situation and only for this.
 
My parents are in good economic condition and, perhaps unconsciously, but perhaps not, they thought they were very important to me at least from that point of view. Well, I didn’t want to know anything about their money and their hypocrisy. I’m a gay guy, I’m alone and maybe I’ll always be alone, my problem is not that of  finding a guy, I live well alone, my problem is to be free, not dependent on anyone and less than ever on my father and my mother. I started doing some chores in the afternoon, I work from 15.00 to 20.00 in a pizzeria to prepare all the material for the chefs for the evening, they give me 500 euros a month, but it’s my money.
 
My parents didn’t know where I was going in the afternoon, but I went to work, and to do a job that would have seemed absolutely unacceptable to them, but for me it was a liberation, I used to come home dead of exhaustion, because they made me work hard, and I put myself to study, at school I lost positions, first I was good, then I settled for the passable, but I felt free. I no longer asked for money for clothes or shoes, I paid for everything with my money, I bought only very cheap things, but they were mine! I got also to buy a laptop because I hadn’t used anymore my father’s computer and finally I put there everything I wanted, I activated many passwords and I always left it around.
 
My parents didn’t understand who had given me the money to buy the computer and were worried, I don’t know, they perhaps thought that I was prostituting myself or that I had found a lover much older than me who had given me expensive gifts, but I left them fry and I answered only: “It’s my business”. My father has been stupid enough to make the big voice: “As long as you stay here we must know what life you do!” I swallowed the bitter morsel because I could not reply but I worked hard to found a radical solution, I had insisted with the pizzeria and they hired me as a waiter, I had to work every night from 19.00 to 24.00 and on Sundays all day from 10.00 to 24.00, I take 900 euros of pay, but these are regular things, it’s a terribly tiring job and sometimes in the evening I cannot even stand up, but I can survive alone.
 
Through the pizzeria I was able to meet a lady who rented a little apartment in the suburbs for 300 euros a month, a rather shabby place, on the top floor, without a lift, with a piece of land in front of it that looks like a dump, but it’s mine! When I signed the contract I went to my parents’ house, packed up my things and left without saying anything to them. They didn’t even call me on the cell phone, then I heard that they had known from some friends of theirs that I was working at the pizzeria because they didn’t know it before, and that was enough for them to feel reassured.
 
Now, since the school is over, I also do other chores and I also do two shifts at the pizzeria and I have to put aside some money because the next year I have graduation exam and I will have to study more and therefore I can work less.
 
Now my apartment is very nice, I cleaned everything up so that it looks like a little gem. There’s also a nice terrace, bigger than the house, and I’ve put there a few plants.
 
Project, I tell you something absurd, I would like so much that you could come and see “my house”. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a guy, I think it will happen (and maybe it has already happened, but I’m going slowly), I want him serious, I want him with balls, I don’t like people who complain themselves.
 
Now there is a guy I like in the pizzeria, he’s one who works hard, he has just arrived, is a little older than me, 21, and is called Luke, I went to work for anger against my parents, he works for necessity because his family doesn’t have much money. When we are at work, Luke and I cannot talk, but he lives not far from my house and when we finish the shift we take the night bus together and talk a bit.
 
He’s very shy for a 21 years old but he’s a very good guy, I don’t know if he’s gay or not, I swear, for me the important thing is not to take him to bed, but that he loves me and he really loves me and I feel it.
 
One morning he came to my house, he gave me many compliments and I was happy, and then he has a way of smiling, a kindness of mind, a sweetness that for me falling in love with him is the most natural thing in the world. I have a dream that in that little house we can also live in two. I know that he’s working in order to support his family, once I went also to his home and they welcomed me very well and I’m happy for him because he has been lucky enough to have a family as it should be.
 
You know, Project, I don’t think about sex, apart from the fact that I arrive at the end of the shift absolutely destroyed, I don’t think about it because I’m fine, I have Luke nearby and that’s enough for me, as a friend and not as my boyfriend but I don’t really care about such a thing and he too is happy when he is with me, we talk a lot, he also told me about a story with a girl, two years ago, but added immediately that it was not something he really felt. I never say anything too demanding, I tell him that I’m happy to talk with him and that we are friends, once I mentioned that in the house it was also possible to stay in two and he told me that he would like it too and he gave me a beautiful smile.
 
Project, now I feel happy, but right in the deep meaning of the term, I work until I burst but I started to live my life and undoubtedly the idea of life in two, of serious life in two would be the highest happiness, but it must be with Luke, if with him it will be impossible, well, I’ll stay alone.
 
Project, do you know that I was pleased to write you? My msn contact is [omissis], add me, so we can talk a bit, basically I miss talking seriously with people your age and I think you could understand me and then, I told you, I would love you to see my little house, maybe having dinner with you and Luke! But we work every night until midnight, I think we had to settle for breakfast in the morning. What do you think? It could be done? I send you a picture of me and Luke, but don’t publish it.
A hug.
Your Albert
___________
 
Hello Project, I write to you because I find it very difficult to hear you in the chat and when I get home I absolutely have to sleep and for me there is neither Saturday nor Sunday. I think I’m close to the collapse, I’m working like crazy to try to put some money aside that will allow me to survive from September onwards, because from September I’ll have to go back to school and I have the graduation waiting for me, that’s why from September on  I can do very little work to earn some money and I would try to keep this mini-apartment not to be forced to return to my parents.
 
My parents don’t even look for me, for them I’m just a problem already solved in every sense, if I can manage without asking them for money, but then, after the graduation, what can I do? How will I survive, working and studying? I see it as a coming nightmare. My school friends, let’s call them so, if they are all comfortable doing nothing, they go on vacation and have fun, I’m here to kill myself at work to survive. These are the perspectives of study and work, truly beautiful!
 
At least before I had Luke, but now he works out of town, he has a girlfriend, when we meet I’m happy because we love each other but I feel also a terrible melancholy. To him, about me, I said nothing, we are two good friends who now no longer work together and meet at most two hours a week.
 
Once he came to the pizzeria and I felt a terrible embarrassment, I served him at the table, he was with his girlfriend, I was smiling and relaxed as if nothing had happened, but inside I felt like dying. I said that Luke would have been fine for me anyway, but now I feel him like a stranger, a stranger I love somehow, but he has his life and I have nothing to do with it.
 
So now with my parents the game is over, with Luke as well, what’s left? Work up to madness, study, and then the university for me will not exist, my friends are doing all their projects, one wants to go to medicine, the other to engineering, etc. etc. and when they ask me, what can I answer? I will not go there! Because in order to go there I should go back to my parents’ house and I should ask them for money and I will never do it, and from what I hear, the university is selective, so either you just do only that or you don’t go anywhere.  My dream would have been to study statistics, I don’t know why but I have always had this fixed idea but there are very few students there and you must attend lessons.
 
What a disgusting life! Everything is random, you can win the lottery or finish under the train, without any reason. I tried to take a look at that MIUR-Guide site you sent me, but it’s a chaos, I don’t understand anything, I’m lost in a huge sea of possibilities and choices. Maybe we could try to look at it together, but I fear very much that in the end it will be just a useless thing because for me the university will remain just a dream.
 
You cannot even imagine how I feel these days, I really feel that for me life will be nothing but work. A guy? But it’s just a dream, here everyone thinks about his business and then what can I offer to a guy? A life of starving or if he works, and maybe much better than me, I can be the one maintained. No! It’s better to be alone and I think I’ll have to start getting used to it.
 
Hi Project. If you answer me at least I realize that someone has spent 10 minutes for me I know you’ll do it.
 
Your Albert
___________
If you like, you can join the discussion on this post on Gay Project Forum: http://gayprojectforum.altervista.org/T-gay-dignity

THE CRY OF PAIN OF A YOUNG GAY

Hello boys … Since I joined the forum I attended it very little, although I stay most nights chatting. Often I just talk in chat and I feel a bit better, because here I met really fantastic people who can accept me despite my quirks (which go well beyond my homosexuality, as those who know me a little know very well). However, tonight letting off steam in the chat didn’t produce any effect because I felt bad as I haven’t felt for a long time.

Tonight the ghosts of the past have come back as violent as a hurricane, ready to drag me away another time … I don’t know if I have already spoken about it on the forum before (in the chat definitely yes), however I live in a mountain village, not far from the city (which anyway is a town of only 60 thousand inhabitants … can one call it city? …) but my village is not well connected to the territory given the reduced number of bus rides and so often it is difficult for me, being a minor, to go to the city. This causes me a very strong feeling of unease.

Here everybody knows everything about everyone … I hate being here, I feel completely out of place, I feel like those caged canaries that would fly and cannot escape. I also feel as a silent tiger, which roars but no one hears the roar. I cry my suffering but it is not understood. I compare to too many things that I’m not, actually … Here, as already mentioned, the Law of Jante, that collection of sociological maxims according to which those who are different from the community are excluded and ridiculed, is widely spread ad dominant.

I’ve never been part of my country, nor even of the neighboring city. I’ve always been a case apart, lost in the Franco-German novels and in Japanese comics, while listening to English and Icelandic music. Jante’s Law is also applied within the homosexual community. Given that there are very few gays here … that is, there are very few gay people, and the mentality is so closed that many don’t even accept themselves as gays. therefore …

I don’t exaggerate if I say that in my area don’t exist more than 20 gays, and in any case I’m the only one in my village. About those 20 in any case now has been made a malevolent word of mouth, I don’t know how or why but everyone knows me but I don’t know them, they know absurd things about me – sometimes true, sometimes not, I wonder how, from what, from whom they came to know such things.

I cannot live here anymore … relationships with the gay community don’t exist at all because of the negative reputation that someone has created about me (such things really happen only in “terronia” [= “land of terroni”. The Italians of the south use to call with contempt those of the north with the nickname “polentoni”, that is, eaters of polenta, those of the north use similarly call those of the south “terroni” i.e. workers of the land, peasants.] … this regardless of sexual orientation, if you are a little bit different you are anyway excluded and considered crazy), as for the relationships with heterosexuals … with the guys I cannot tie,

I’m afraid of being judged, ah no ops… they judge me because I’m not visibly like them … not that I’m very effeminated but I certainly don’t have the interests: pussy, motors and football the straight guys talk about here. I point out, I don’t have this opinion of all straight guys. Outside of my area, when I was lucky enough to live in France, but also in the north of Italy, I saw heterosexual guys very open (I point out it because I don’t want to look like heterophobe). Regarding the straight girls, eh, it’s a minimum positive point. With them I can tie, as long as they are not bitches or little geese [stupid persons] … as a result, I only have a close female friend (which everyone calls alternately “Satan” or “Zoccola” [bitch] and this clearly demonstrate how the south of Italy is open …) and three other female friends with whom I’m not as close but I feel at ease and I love them. Then I have a lesbian friend, but lately I attend her less. In short, all women.

I don’t even know what I’m writing and why I’m writing. Maybe to make sure that one day I’ll remember these things. I had started with the intention of describing in detail the word-of-mouth aggression perpetrated against me, but I realize only now that I cannot do it, for the simple fact that I don’t have the faintest idea about. And I have to say that I have been already the victim of another word of mouth, when in eighth grade someone called almost all the parents of my classmates to tell them that I was gay. I would like to know who did so just to say “I’m sorry for how much you are a piece of shit …”

So, I’m angry with everyone tonight. I’m angry with Calabria that doesn’t offer me opportunities, with the Calabrians who have a very narrow mind, with my mother who instead of helping me pushes deeper the knife into the wound with the acid jokes, stressing the fact that I don’t know how to defend myself, but above all I’m angry with myself because I’m not able to send everything and everyone to hell and move on by myself. I’m proud of myself only because in all this I have never seriously thought about suicide, because I firmly believe that there is a better life outside of this hell. But I see this situation depressing, to put it mildly … not committing suicide here is a demonstration that I give myself every day that elsewhere I could really be worth something …

Here people don’t have a minimum respect, I have been called “bog”, “crazy”, “Satanist”, “poof” and many other cute nicknames since I was THREE years old, they already hated me in kindergarten. Do I have a face of cocks? Maybe, but is it my fault? With people who don’t stop at the first impression I can bind so much to give them my soul … but often it seems that people next to me don’t realize it, they think I’m crazy and then I behave accordingly :/ What to say? How to conclude? I don’t know. I’m disheartened. I’m depressed. I say lies every 3×2 [usually], just because I say lies I delude myself to get away from this unsatisfactory reality. I’ve been doing it since I was 9 years old.

Sometimes I’m terrified that even if I’m going to attend university elsewhere, everything will be equally disgusting, that the world is really disgusting like Calabria (although I have tangible evidences that it is not). But my father with his fucking motto “the whole world is village” would make me want to swallow 50 pills of Valium and finish the games forever … I don’t do it because I want and I can resist … because I know I’m worth something … but believe me sometimes, for a few nanoseconds, suicide seems to me the only way out. I resist. I keep fighting and resisting. But for how long? How much do I still have to suffer before finding happiness? Does happiness exist for me?

What then my happiness is? … A goodnight text message would be enough for me or something like “my love … for me you are all” from a boy and this post would never have been written. I would need a “I would like you next to me now” if not a guy waiting for me in the room nearby ready to … kiss me, hug me, tell me that no matter how I suffered and I will suffer but he will always be there for me. Because this is my greatest cause of suffering: the fear of never finding a boyfriend. I don’t have particular passions, yes I like French, Icelandic, history and psychology. But I would never be able to make my work a reason for living, I’m rather “two hearts and a hut”, so far I’ve only had almost exclusively online relationships (live, I’ve only have had stupid, without feeling and also few relationships) yet in those online relationships I gave my all, often I canceled myself to receive a little word of affection, sometimes things went better, sometimes worse (they have always lasted little, anyway).

If I think back to those few messages that I now remember BY HEART from those guys, it’s enough for me to be less worse. I think of what they wrote to me and I repeat “Yes, Rox, you are strong … you can overcome everything!” But then I think that even if, yes, I can do it, I wonder WHAT IS THE POINT OF DOING IT… I feel lonely, terribly lonely, I don’t know people to talk to about such things. I’m here to talk to you. I talk about it on other forums – even about other subjects – on which I’m writing. And I don’t even want to end writing this post, because ending it would mean going to bed crying and listening to depressed music. I want to write here everything that passes through my mind. At the beginning I had titled this discussion “gay and in an isolated mountain area” but right now I have changed to “my cry of pain”. I cannot take it anymore. Life goes on and I look at it from behind the glass of my window. Time runs and I spend time waiting for it to continue to pass as fast as possible. I leave you with the song that most I listen to when I feel so much down … Everything passes, of the Huga Flame.

Everything goes, it’s true, but when will all this pass even for me? Reading about 13, 14 year old boys who already have a boyfriend … it makes me so angry and sad, also because they are all from Turin, Milan, Bologna, at most Rome … I’m here … I don’t know what to write. I won poetry and philosophy contests, I think I’m a sweet, shy and sensitive guy … but maybe this is not enough today to be liked, but I’m not going to change because of the others … because I love to be exactly like I’m, and this is the most important thing. I have beautiful eyes (according to others … otherwise I would not let me say) and anyway the rest of my face and my body although I’m not really a model doesn’t even disgust, yet this is what I provoke in many people, DISGUST. I suck them. And although I try to ignore it, and in fact it is waning compared to a few years ago when I didn’t reason on the basis of ME but based on the OTHERS, anyway all this hurts me.

I feel alone, fuckily, damned alone. And I would just like someone who now, right now as I’m writing, would lock my hands and bring them around himself and to my slightest protest would give me a kiss so long as to cancel everything that is around me, around him, around us. I don’t know what I expect as answers. The answers you’ll give me will probably not change my situation, but I wait for them impatiently anyway, as a child waits for Santa. MAKE IT STOP, LET THIS END … I feel a lot, too much, like in this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XP4clbHc4Xg

Oh, I add, since in the end I stayed at the computer even if it’s 5.09 a.m. and I hear the birds chirp (but what does it matter to me, if the birds are chirping?), now more than resigned I’m pissed off. I always alternate those two states of mind … a little I’m pissed off a bit I’m resigned. What a sadness! Right now I was thinking about the fact that so far, although I have had some (very few) relationships (mostly online) it’s been me the one who did EVERYTHING. The others stayed passively with me (not in the sexual sense, but in the sense that they didn’t consider it too much important if they were with me or not), except for a boy. I feel so different, different from anyone. It doesn’t matter if gay or straight, If male or female, I feel different, almost on another planet. And this sensation it’s not very cool, it’s really distressing … sorry for the strange expression. Feeling so different … feeling that I can never really like someone … makes me want to disappear …

___________

If you like, you can join the discussion on this post on Gay Project Forum: http://gayprojectforum.altervista.org/T-the-cry-of-pain-of-a-young-gay

GAY GUYS BETWEEN REJECTION AND DIALOGUE

Hi guys, my name is M., I’m a boy 16 and a half years old, I’ve always been very closed, with my parents I have practically no dialog, from last July 11th 2008, a day I will never forget, I practically hate them because my father caught me doing a wank in front of my computer while I was watching a gay site and he did something I will never forgive him for, before I had the chance to rearrange myself, he slapped me in the face and he left, and then he went to report everything to my mother, shouting like an obsessive man so as to be heard from all the neighbors. The windows were wide open because it was afternoon and it was hot but he was screaming: “My son is a fagot!” I hated him as I have never hated anyone and I was really upset, I thought I’d leave home, smash the windows of his car, spit in his face, because he is an asshole and he enjoys humiliating me!

My parents have always considered me piece of shit and now they think I’m an unrecoverable one who will not do anything in life but to get it in the backside and my father tells me such things in the face, according to them I will never do a normal life but it’s not true at school I’m quite good, not very good, but I can handle it even if I do the bare minimum and then I don’t care about school. I have very few friends, if I can even call them friends, because I prefer when I don’t see them.

I’m gay, it’s one of the few things I’m sure of, I do and always did all my fantasies and even all my wanks thinking only of boys, but I have a fucking fear of sex, I would never go to a community, I don’t know but I think that certain things would make me really sick. I have a fucking fear that someone can rape me, that can force me to do things I don’t want. For my age I’m quite developed and I shouldn’t be afraid of suffering things that I don’t want because I’m strong and I can defend myself, but I still have this fear.

Till July 11th, I thought I was gay but I thought it was a relative thing, not that it was a passing thing, but that it was not important for me, that I only needed it to wank, but from July 11th on I said to myself: “Fuck, I’m gay, it’s not just any thing, I’m gay!” And I told myself I had to overcome my fears, I was afraid of going to the community, even though I would do it in spite of my father.

Then I discovered the blog of Project, and then, from there, the forum. Reading gave me a feeling of a bit of fear but also a bit of strong curiosity. I didn’t have the courage to register on the forum, so I wrote to Project and I sent him my contact, through the blog. After I did it I felt very strange, I didn’t know what to think, I thought he would have answered me immediately, I have been waiting until two in the morning but he didn’t answer. I was nervous and disappointed, I said to myself: “This Project is an asshole like everyone else!”. Then I collapsed and I fell asleep.

Saturday morning I opened the computer at nine o’clock and Project had added me and was online. I didn’t know what to do, I felt in total embarrassment, then I called him. The first few minutes I didn’t know what to say, I was wrong to write, I just said stupid things and I wanted to close everything, I thought: “What am I doing here?” Then the thing changed and it was a strange thing, I told him the story of the slap that still burned me and not only on a psychological level, then I started talking about sex, masturbation, fantasies that pass through my head. That is, we talked about it freely, like normal things. I never experienced something like that.

Then I asked him so many things about sex that I didn’t know and he started to explain everything to me but just trying to make me understand things but without haste. And then, for a wank my father gave me a slap and started screaming, it’s okay that it was a gay wank but he reacted like that, with Project we talked a lot but just in another way. Then we also chatted in the following days. I like it so much when Project gives me the sermons on the meaning of life and tells me that I’m not at all a disgusting person, despite what my parents think and then it is not a preaching, he believes it and a little bit I believe it too. Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Damn, it’s short! But I send it the same.

__________

If you like, you can join the discussion on this post on Gay Project Forum: http://gayprojectforum.altervista.org/T-gay-guys-between-rejection-and-dialogue

A GAY GUY HARRASSED BY HIS PARENTS

Hello Project, I finally find some time to write to you. A lot of things have happened in these weeks, but now I have to talk about my family. I will be very long in this e-mail, a real novel. But don’t worry, answer when you can. To endure the situation has become increasingly difficult, the fact that I live in a big city – despite coming home several times a month – keeps my parents in a state of absolute frenzy for the simple fact that they cannot control me. They are pathetic and incredibly oppressive, they are absolutely convinced, for example, that I go to the pool for some kind of obscure sexual reason, maybe because I met someone, so my father tells me: “It’s not that you go there to make some crap?”

Repeatedly and continuously they both say they will come to break into the house without notifying me. If there was only this I wouldn’t worry at all, the fact is that they are obsessed by the thought that I can be gay, so much to tell me constantly dirty things, which really so far I have never read in the e-mails of guys on Gay Project.

As soon as some girls appear on TV, my father comments disgustingly (in front of my mother) and then together they ask me questions like “Do you like them?” (Referring to half-naked girls’ tits), or ask me if I like their asses, they assail me with sexual questions!

Then I can also be holding back, but not hypocritical, so I will not answer these questions. And my father continues to insist, and to asks the same questions four, five times in a row, saying that it matters to him a lot. In practice they forced me to do a half coming out simply making me say that I don’t like female tits and asses.

My mother is not far behind my father. Watching a television service, in which was showed a manifestation of collective kisses, even gay, she grimaced, and his words were “What a disgusting thing, truly disgusting!” With an expression – that I know well – of such disgust, that I felt like dying. But the real boulder of this whole story is permanent, there is always and never goes away.

When we are together, I feel a sense of deep unease because they don’t respond as they should, sometimes they flash strange looks at me, all this in a climate of apparent normality but in fact I feel a never ending sense of guilt. I feel treated like someone who commits, who has committed or who continues to commit mistakes and, even if they don’t tell me, they are always there to remind me the same thing through the attitudes even if not trough the words. I cannot live anymore as if I had committed something, they make me feel wrong. And sometimes I believe it, and I tell myself that if I really didn’t have anything to hide of myself, I could very well tell the truth, but I never do.

I must add my uncle to contribute to this picturesque picture of the mentality of my family. One day while we are talking, he says to me: “Oh my God, do you know what happened yesterday in the bus? I was sleeping, but behind me I heard the voices of two lovers, at one point I turned around and they were two gays! So much disgusting! They were sitting there on the seats of the bus side by side, kissing each other and showing public effusions. Oh my God, too much disgusting! (And laughs amazed).

Even the driver could see them. Next to me on the left side of the bus, there were two old persons – a husband and a wife – who looked at them and laughed, how much they laughed! But I had checked that boy well, you could see that he was a bit poof, his behavior was strange and the hair very particular, and then waiting for him as if nothing had happened, there was his mother, as if it were all normal! Oh my God! Very disgusting!” Needless to say what I felt inside, however, I smile and say: “Here we are very narrow-minded, already in the north it’s something much more common.” He answers me decided: “No! Really! What rubbish, in public!” Conversation closed.

This is the mentality of 95% of the people of the lost little town in which I have the misfortune of living. Suffice it to say that my father – a man with a fixed idea (to have sex with women) – long ago, after all the psychic violence that I had to undergo by a psychologist to whom I was forcibly carried, he asked me: “So, are you healed? Are you sure you are healed?” For a man like him, the greatest divine punishment is a gay son. He doesn’t care about the university as much as he cares about the girls. He would much rather see me as a bricklayer with a family than as a lawyer without a family.

Speaking of sexuality, one thing I’ve never told you about sexuality is the distorted view I had when I was a child. I soon began to realize that I felt attracted to the boys, but I even remember that as a child (about 8 years old) when my mother was absent, occasionally – it happened no more than 3-4 times in all – that I dressed up as a woman, with heels and wig, and I played the woman, acted like a was a woman. It happened that once he caught me dressed as a woman, and I remember he did a real tragedy, while I didn’t give too much importance to the thing and I considered it simply a “forbidden game”.

However, when I was 12 and realized I was gay, in my mind I didn’t know the possibility of a love between man and man, I thought of the binomial man-woman as the only possible combination and so – as a boy falling in love with boys – I prayed all the evenings wondering why I had not been born a woman, why I was a boy and not a girl. Only with the passage of time I realized that I could love a man while being myself, that I didn’t have to be a woman, but I could very well be myself, and I finally understood the world, my world!

That said, it must be said that I’m absolutely not effeminate, indeed! Nobody who knows me superficially can think of me as a gay, so much so that people speak to me naturally about the various “pathetic scenes” that they see around, reiterating always the same thing just as a broken record: that “those” can be immediately detected.

The psychologist to whom I had been carried forcibly, do you know what he said to my parents? That a boy is gay if in childhood he disguised himself, if he played with dolls (something that I never did), if he had more female than male friendships, and similar things. Immediately my mother pointed her finger and said: “Yes, I remember that he disguised himself and played a lot more with the girls!” Today I think with anger at that idiot, however, not yet permanently disappeared from my world. He represented the one and great opportunity to really explain the gay world to my parents and push them to accept me, although I always denied everything.

Instead, after those forced sessions that have raped me deeply, their behavior has deteriorated considerably, and “coincidentally” in the last meeting they saw each other just my parents and him, without me. I don’t know what he could say, I only know that he was very close to the Church and the result is this, even if he constantly told me: “I have many gay friends, please open yourself with me”. I’m overjoyed not to have done it. To date I am increasingly convinced that it was a trap to make me “confess”.

I tell you this because somehow it relates to a particular episode that happened. Well, I returned home and in small towns like mine every bullshit, that is every small event that takes place becomes an unmissable event, so it happened that a simple comedy (also of mediocre quality, made by boys of about my age) became one of those unmissable events to which one cannot miss.

Sacrilege! I dared to refuse to follow the head of the family, the matron and the offspring, and for this reason, they did not spare their ruthless attacks when they returned. They told me things of all kinds, repeating many times the same phrase: “You don’t go out because of fear! You are afraid of people, you are an asocial (sometimes an abnormal) etc. “It has been a long time since I refuse to go out and (almost always) they accuse me of having “fear of people”.

I have good reasons for believing that it was the psychologist of that time who taught them this strange theory. It is precisely since then that they continue to say these things, but they have understood nothing. It is very true that I don’t go out in my little town at all, except for the times when I am obliged, but this happens for a simple reason: I don’t like going out with people who don’t are interested in me, because these are not friends but at most good acquaintances, for the reasons you know well, in addition to the fact that I don’t have a single topic in common with them, who run after gossip and grotesque events of the town like that of making an insipid comedy of poor quality.

But unfortunately I’m nothing short of isolated. On an entire town, everyone thinks that going out is sacrosanct and dutiful, everyone! It is a common opinion, from children to the elderly, people thinks that those who don’t go out at night have psychiatric problems and must be helped. The fact of preferring a film or a good book to a comedy of no value made by 15 years old boys or simply of preferring books and films to a simple exit in the evening in a village of 8 thousand souls, amazes them.

The theory of the psychologist that as I can deduce has been inculcated into the brains of my parents is this: “He doesn’t come out because he feels uncomfortable among people and this happens because he knows he is gay and recognizes that he is wrong, so you (my parents) have to help him suppress this diseased part of him by forcing him or putting him in the condition of frequenting normal people and going out.”

What happened? Just Sunday afternoon while I was back in Naples where I study, the daughter of a guy friend of my father (with his father standing nearby) calls me. Now, this girl I saw only once, before, asks me candidly: “Why don’t you go out? I called you because I never see you. I wanted to tell you that I would like you to come out with us or with me.”

Shocked! I was stunned, as well as deeply humiliated, and I was seriously tempted to send this silly girl to the hell, but then the kindness got the better and I explained to her calmly that Friday night I come home late, Saturday I’m busy with the sport and Sunday at 5 I go back to Naples, so I can’t go out. I assume without any doubt that all this was concocted by my parents, coincidentally the day after I missed the comedy. An episode, for a 21 year old treated like a child, of a humiliation that is easy to imagine.

Do you know what makes them infuriate more? It is the fact that every day more, as you have noticed, I raise my head and am more and more I’m proud of myself, of what I’m. And I make it understood in every way, in all possible implicit imaginable ways. I’m proud of myself and they don’t accept it at all. In the past, however, I was ashamed, blushed in front of gay characters on TV and they enjoyed it, as if to say: “he realizes he’s wrong, he’s in error”.

They understood that I’m proud of myself, and they are making life impossible for me. I’m alone like never before, I thank God every day for the fact that at least I’m spending a lot of time in Naples, far away, without them. At home I don’t even have a shred of freedom and dignity, since I cannot go not even in the bathroom without them spying me to see if I piss or do anything else.

I don’t imagine how it will be tomorrow, I’m working hard but in this situation I don’t know how much I will resist. I’m without friends and without – I don’t say love – but at least a story, and this is making me hard like a stone towards life. Sometimes I cry, remembering what it was like once, when I was 11-14 years old, when everything had not yet started, when the simplicity of friendships was the only important thing in my life. Now I’m disillusioned, dead inside, without even a family in the true sense of the word, with an incredible hardness, unusual to find in a 21 year old guy.

I see them, my peers, running for clubs, fighting for true friendships, crying for the first love ended bad, rejoicing for the first kiss, the first time, and pursuing the dream of a life, a life possible. My path of life instead will be perhaps not foregone, but in the meantime I dream of being able to go to discos for people like me, I cannot fight for true friendships, I don’t cry for the first loves ended, I don’t rejoice for the first kiss or for the first time, and I chase the dream of an impossible life.

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ANGUISH OF THE FATHER OF A GAY SON

Hello Project, I am writing to you for a reason that for some years does not make me live well, my son is a homosexual. Believe me, for me and my wife it was a very difficult thing to accept and we did many things that you consider absurd, and rightly I mean, because we didn’t know what to do. But I tell you the story from the beginning because you are a person who does a lot for the boys and you can give me a serious opinion.

I am almost 50 years old and my wife 47, our son is 24 and we also have a girl of 16, this to make you understand. We are not rich but we work in two and thank God we don’t miss anything. We don’t have a dialogue with our son anymore, maybe we didn’t even have it before. Until 14 years old he was a guy like everyone else, then, I don’t know how it happened, but he changed completely, while before we used to talk with each other, after, the blackout has been total. We thought at first that they were teenagers things and we didn’t worry. He developed early and at the age of 16 he was already a handsome guy, but he was on one side and we on the other. Everything we said was wrong for him. He used to shut himself up in his room and we didn’t know anything about him, he went out of his room hardly to eat, but at school he was good, he never gave us any problems, in short, we thought it was all right.

But he always wanted money, always money, he said for the phone and we got a little suspicious. I told him: give me the number and I can recharge the money myself and he agreed, so the money was really for the phone, on the one hand we reassured, but on the other not. We said to ourselves: but who’s he calling, spending so many money? We thought that there was a girl, because many of his attitudes made us think so, when he had to call he always called from his room and closed himself inside and nothing could be heard because he spoke very softly. Once we told him that he had to let us know the girl, but he replied that it was only his business and that we had to stay in our place.

The thing that really ruined our life (I say truly ruined) happened one day when he was 17 years old. He had to stay at school and I had to go to work in Naples. I arrived in Naples, in the place where I had to go to work and I could not access there because the firemen were there and sent us home, I don’t know why. I go back to my country by bus and pass near a place with wooden tables where people go to eat on Sundays and I see my son hugged with another guy I had never seen. It was a moment but it was really my son, because he wore a very particular jacket that I recognized immediately. So I asked the driver to make me get off right away and he stopped the bus, but the bus was already a long way ahead of where I had saw my son. I started running towards them and they were hugged in a way that you could not go wrong. As they saw me they got terribly scared. The one who was with my son was not a boy, he was 40, I didn’t restrain anymore and threw myself on him and my son defended him and told me such words that I would never have imagined by my son.

I screamed that my son was a minor and that I would have reported him to the police, but there was nobody, I wanted to kill him but he was stronger than me and it was he who was killing me and he left me on the ground that I could not even move then he took the car and ran away but I saw the license plate number. I wanted to talk to my son but he left me and went away with no word.

When I came home and told my wife everything, she was dying. At first I thought that I had to beat up my son badly and that other one had I to report him to the police, but what can you do in a village like mine? You cannot go to the village lawyer. I made an appointment and went to Naples the same afternoon but the lawyer told me that at 17 years is not a crime if there is no violence and the judge about violence asks the victim, but my son before saying that it was violence, would have killed me. You can imagine what I was feeling inside myself.

I come home that it was late at night and my son had not come back home. You cannot imagine what I went through that night, I thought that he had thrown himself into the river from the bridge and furthermore because of me. He didn’t answer the cell phone. I didn’t know whether to go to the police, I didn’t know what to do. Then my wife thought about and said: you have to apologize otherwise he can make some inconsiderate gesture, if he haven’t already done it, we thought of a message like this: “dad apologizes for what happened, it was a moment of madness forgive me!” I wrote it and we sent it, but you don’t even imagine how much it cost me. After a night of terror like that, that my son was a homosexual it seemed almost acceptable to me, as long as he was not dead.

I prayed to Our Lady saying: “if you save him, it’s enough for me, I’ll accept him well even if he’s a homosexual”. He replied to the message by saying that I had ruined his life and that he would have hated me for life, but he had replied, we told him that he had to come back home that we had now understood and that we would not have hindered him anyway. The next evening he came back home but slamming the door and avoiding to look us in the face. He entered and closed himself inside.

In short, so began the hell in our house and everything under the eyes of his sister. When we were at home he was locked inside, with us he never ate, he took from the refrigerator what he wanted and brought it to his room. In the morning he went out for school and I didn’t know anything about it. Then I went to talk with the teachers and they told me that he had been absent too many times, before I got into a fight with that guy but the teachers said that now luckily he had started going to school seriously because if he continued as before he would have risked the rejection. So he went to school and studied as well. He didn’t ask us for money, because he is also very proud and how he was able to move forward I don’t know at all.

But we couldn’t go on like this. In short, my wife and I took courage and we faced our son and understood something. The 40-year-old guy was gone and my son was angry. He told me he was homosexual because of us and then we got in the way to stop him. So we argued violently but at least we talked a bit. We didn’t know what to do. Hidden from him we went to a psychologist in Naples who told us that we had to go to him all together, I, my wife and my son, that he could help us to feel better but if my son was a homosexual, he would stay homosexual and we said that we were resigned to this but at least we were looking for some peace. We tried to tell him about our son but he looked at us like two idiots and told us that instead we really wanted him to become heterosexual.

My wife tried to tell my son what the psychologist had said but he thought it was a trick and he didn’t even listen to us. So even the story of the psychologist has ended in nothing. Our Lady! My wife and I talked a lot, we said, well, if you find a young boy of your age you can do it, if he is attentive to people, because here where we live if people find out that you are a homosexual you become the fable of the country and you can’t live here anymore, to other boys it happened so. We tried to tell him it and he became a fury: that it was only his business and that’s it. And, do you know what he did? He just turned 18 years old, and the day after he told the whole village everything, but with all the story that I had got into a fight with that guy. Our Lady! how much I was ashamed! Not of the fact that he was homosexual but of what people were saying, of how they considered him and us. So we were put on the streets as an subject to chat about, but the first to end badly it was him, it was something that could not go on and he didn’t want to go to school anymore and he had to do the final exam.

So we had to send him to a private school in Naples, we also took a mini-apartment, to let him feel free there and we went to live in the countryside but for me and my wife there were more hours of travel to go to work and for the sister to go to school. We were afraid that he didn’t want to go to at school in Naples because it was up to us to pay for it and also for the house, but then he didn’t create any problems because even for him it was impossible to live in the village.

Our phone calls are limited to: How are you? All right, bye. We send him money via money order, we never ask for anything, at 22 he took his first degree but he didn’t tell us and we didn’t ask anything, we knew it from a guy who studies the same things that he studies. In practice we have no relationship with our son, he considers us enemies, probably, I don’t know, but now he is 24 years old.

But why do things have to end this way? I tried to think how he can feel and I think he feels uncomfortable too. But why do we have to keep going like this? It is seven years that this story goes on like this and I don’t see light. He is homosexual, I understand it, I read so many things to understand better, even those that you wrote and that helped me a lot. Now I can say that my wife and I finally accepted it. If we made mistakes we didn’t do it out of malice but because we didn’t understand anything about these things. If you were now in my place, what would you do? Believe me, I tried many times to talk with my son but he did not want to know anything about it, but we love him, if he brings home a boy instead of a girl, for us it will be the same, but why should we look like two enemies? I tell you with tears in my eyes, I would embrace him but I’m afraid it will not happen anymore! If you want to put this letter in the forum, put it, but answer me only privately. Now I come to understand that you do good things for the boys, but believe me it’s difficult for a parent to get there.
I respect you so much. A. B.
[the original email shows full name and surname]

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